


Underneath the Table (Make It Hard to Talk)

by giidas (KatushkaK)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatushkaK/pseuds/giidas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geno should’ve known that his dirty talk will one day get him in trouble. He also should have known Sid will be the death of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underneath the Table (Make It Hard to Talk)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bropunzeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/gifts).



> Twitter is the worst place to be on a Monday morning. Or any morning. Thanks to [Jess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling) and her prompt ("I wanna get underneath the table and make it hard for you to talk"), there is now this. Un-beta-ed, any and all mistakes are mine.  
> I hope you have fun reading!

 

Geno should’ve known that his dirty talk will one day get him in trouble. He also should have known Sid will be the death of him. 

Sid’s mouth is a thing of beauty and Geno knows for a fact he is not the only one who thinks that. Mean chirping on the ice aside, there have been guys at clubs. Geno heard what they sometimes say to Sid, thinking no one else is in hearing range. Filthy things murmur-shouted into Sid’s ear to be heard over the noise of the place. How pink and full his lips are, how great they would look around a cock. How they’d bite them red and stinging. Sid would always shake his head, expression neutral, and turn back to Geno or the guys.

He didn’t like to hear that from anonymous dudes at random clubs, no. He did love it when Geno whispered it into his neck when he was fucking Sid, imprinting it in his skin. His eyes would snap shut, his head thrown back, his fingers would lock around Geno’s wrist.

The last time, Geno went too far. Or so he thought.

‘Next time,’ he breathes in and gathers his words, trying not to think about Sid’s fluttering eyelashes as his lips grow tighter around the head of Geno’s cock, ‘before reporters come, you should,’ he groans when Sid presses his tongue in the slit, ‘you should. Under table, on your knees for me.’

Geno dares to look down at Sid, who’s lying between his thighs, Geno’s cock in his mouth. His eyes fly open and he makes a noise, fingers digging into Geno’s thighs. Geno comes with a long moan, back arching off the bed.

They don’t talk about it after, not even after Sid’s come is all over Geno’s chest, or when they’re all cleaned up and lying in bed, about to go to sleep. Geno almost, almost forgets about it. But then a press conference is announced, and Sid is not supposed to take part, it’s Geno, Nealer, Flower, Beau, Goc and a couple of others.

It’s scheduled a half an hour after a skate, so he assumes Sid will go home and they’ll just meet there after. When Sid ushers him to the showers and follows him, he’s confused but shrugs it off. After the showers, Geno is getting dressed, putting a cap over his wet hair, when he notices that Sid is not leaving. He raises a questioning eyebrow when Sid glances his way. Sid smirks, leaves his bag on the bench and makes his way out of the locker room. As he passes Geno, he says under his breath,

‘We should hurry up if I’m supposed to get under the table unnoticed,’ and he continues as though he didn’t just drop a bomb into Geno’s lap. Flower notices his wide eyed expression and raises an eyebrow of his own, but Geno shakes his head at him and gestures after Sid, follows him out of the locker room.

Sid is perched on the conference table, waiting, and the smirk on his lips is getting dangerous now. Geno is in so much trouble. He moves closer, stands with his thigh pressed into the edge of the table.

‘You should sit somewhere to the side,’ Sid waves his hand towards the spot where Beau is supposed to sit, ‘switch Beau’s and your name cards, yeah?’ Geno nods, because if they’re really doing this, sitting in the centre of the table, in the centre of all the attention? Not the brightest idea. He grabs the name cards and switches them. The PR lady will chew him out about it later, but he couldn’t care less right now.

‘Get under first,’ he says to Sid, ‘then I sit down, yes?’ Sid nods, quickly looks around, and presses himself close to Geno, bringing their lips together with a hand on Geno’s nape. His eyes close and he scrambles for Sid’s hips, his ass. Sid moans into his mouth and draws back. Smirks again. He walks around the table and gets on his knees, crawls under it. Geno makes sure he can’t be seen from the front or side and is very grateful for the weird tablecloth and all the ads that are lining the front, facing the reporters for maximum exposure, of course.

He’s about to sit down when the reporters start to trickle in. Some of them take a few shots of him, some say ‘Hello,’. Geno nods at them but mostly hides under his cap, realising the usual protocol is for players to come in last. Nothing they can do about it now, though, so geno just settles in. He nearly jumps when he feels hands on his ankles, slowly crawling up his legs. They stop at his knees, part them wide. He can hear Sid shifting under the table, positioning himself comfortably. Geno should’ve thought of bringing something Sid could put under his knees. He remembers Sid had a hoodie slung over his shoulder and has to shake his head. Always prepared, like a boy scout. Geno wonders if boy scouts have badges for Best Blowjob.

There are only a few minutes left before the official start and the guys come in, looking surprised to see Geno already sitting there.

‘Aren't you usually the last to show up to these?’ asks Beau, who doesn’t even require an answer as he looks, confused, at where his name card is. He takes it in stride and sits in the middle of the table, next to Nealer.

There are some more questions and more chirping among the guys, but Geno has trouble concentrating. Sid is running his palms slowly up and down Geno’s things, squeezing here and there, making it very hard for Geno not to squirm in his seat. He has to breathe hard and remind himself that if he starts now, what will he do when Sid really applies himself? He grabs one of the pens just lying there on the table, and even though he never understood why they were there, he’s suddenly very grateful they are. He stars clicking it on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on - Flower grabs his hand, shoots him a glare. Geno smiles at him all fake-rueful, grabs one of the notebooks and starts scribbling, drawing shapes, possible plays.

The questions start, he thinks, but it’s getting more and more difficult to focus when Sid starts pulling his sweats down, nosing at Geno through his underwear, breathing him in and breathing hot air _on_ him. Geno shivers and clears his throat, holds back a small moan by sheer force of will. Both hands on the table, he reminds himself. The pen lies by his right hand, forgotten.

Sid licks at him, still through the fabric of his underwear, but Geno feels the wet seeping through, the press of Sid’s tongue on his shaft electric. A reporter asks him something, and Geno formulates the most general answer possible, hoping that it at least somehow fits the question. Another question aimed at him, and he honestly tries to listen, but what he fills his ears is the wild pumping of his own blood, his own deep breaths. He makes a confused “English is my second language I don’t understand” face and one of the guys saves him.

Geno moves his ass closer to the edge of the chair, shifting his hips so they’re hidden under the table a bit more. He sprawls as he rarely does on these kinds of events, making himself appear relaxed, trying to mask how his muscles keep locking every time Sid’s tongue pushes at Geno’s slit through the now spit soaked underwear. Sid is playing with his balls, tugging at them gently, just as Geno likes. He tries to hide the whine that escapes his lips with a cough, but judging by the looks thrown his way, he fails spectacularly.

Sid’s hands move up and to his waistband, bringing down the underwear, hooking it under Geno’s balls. Usually, Sid would start at the head, licking at it, swallowing it down, but today he starts by licking at Geno's balls, pulling them in his mouth. Geno’s hands are fists and he can’t seem to relax his fingers, nails digging in his palms. His breathing is harsh, probably too loud, and he can feel himself turning redder by the second.

Sid is slow in his explorations, but all the more thorough for it. He kisses at the base of Geno’s cock, presses two fingers behind Geno’s balls, which makes him jump in his chair and reminds the reporters that Geno is there and they should be asking him questions. Every time he tries to pay attention, Sid would redouble his efforts, making it impossible for Geno to untangle the foreign sounds of English into something his brain could decipher. He hasn’t felt this clueless at a conference since his first months in America. He nods, shrugs, looks away, all the while thinking ‘What if they knew, what would they think, what would they say.’

Probably nothing good, but not even that can dampen Geno’s arousal when Sid is on his knees for him. Under a table. In a conference room full of people. 

Sid is licking the head of his cock now, running his tongue over the slit, his breaths hot on Geno’s wet skin. The palms on his thighs are warm, and they knead into his muscles, making him relax and tense up, fidget in his chair. Thumbs dig where thigh meets groin and Geno slumps his head forward in a weak effort to hide his face, hide the way he is biting his bottom lip to stop the moans.

There’s a lull in the voices and Geno looks back up, notices most of the room is looking at him. Someone from the crowd repeats their question,

‘Geno, you seem a little,’ there’s a pause, 'distracted today. Could it be the flu that’s been going around?’ and Geno is so grateful to him, so so very grateful.

‘Maybe,’ he croaks out, clears his throat, ‘yes, maybe I have flu, but I strong, will be okay before game.’ there are a few laughs and he hopes this is sufficient, that they will stop and focus on the other players, because Sid is sucking in earnest now and it’s all Geno can do to sit still and not make any noise, to keep both his hands on the table.

He honestly doesn’t know what happens next, is only able to focus on Sid’s wet heat, his tongue flicking at the ridge under the head of his cock. He’s leaking, his cock is twitching in Sid’s mouth, and his hips are jerking the tiniest bit. He can’t stop them. 

When he looks up, the reporters are packing their things, half of them gone already, and the guys are slowly leaving too. He tries not to draw attention to himself, but Flower shakes him by the shoulder, makes Geno look up at him.

‘Hey, G, you okay?’ and there is genuine worry in his voice, Geno thinks.

Sid is still sucking, not relenting even the slightest bit even though he must hear Flower talk. Geno should have known. His sweats are tugged further down at the front and fingers are sneaking lower and lower…

‘Yes!’ Geno says, too loud, too eager, he startles even himself. ‘Yes, fine. Just tired. Flu, maybe?’

A finger between his cheeks, pressing insistently at his hole. Geno is sweating, trying too hard not to make any suspicious noises when Flower is paying so much attention to him.

‘Yeah? Well, drink lots of fluids. You know the drill,’ he says and squeezes Geno’s shoulder, let’s his hand fall and leaves. Geno sighs, relief flooding his body. He quickly looks around and finds the conference room empty, the lights turned low.

His hand shoots under the table, grabbing Sid’s hair, tugging hard, rocking his hips.

‘Evil Sid, evil Sid,’ he chants and feels Sid’s chest shake between his thighs. 

‘No laughing. Suck,’ and he does, because he _does_.

Geno is so, so very close. His toes are curling and so is his whole body, forward and forward until his forehead hits the table. He tugs at Sid’s hair again, whines into the scribbles in the notebook. Sid presses a finger against his hole, hard, and Geno shivers, his muscles lock up, and he comes down Sid’s throat.

He’s breathing hard, unable to sit straight just yet, so he turns his head to see Sid crawl out from underneath the table. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed and sweaty, and he’s tenting his pants.

‘Sid like too?’ Geno teases. Sid doesn’t even dignify that with an answer. Geno chuckles.

‘Could switch places, next time,’ Sid’s eyes are wide, his breath hitches. 

Geno can’t wait.

Maybe he could even get a Blowjob Badge is he tries hard enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I am on [here](http://giidas.tumblr.com/) if you want to come and talk.


End file.
